Saturday, December 31, 2011

Great aspirations, pisspoor goals

(another post from my collection of letters and journals)

When and If you decide how you want to live-
How and why you try to feel-
It all becomes a matter of what you wish to give,
Your fear must not overcome your will.
The truth of the soul is what is at stake-
Hidden behind those many veils,
That life is only of what you make-
Is only one of many Hells.
Nothing is certain, that is for sure,
Do as thou wilt, wisdom as false has been shown-
and think not too much, think not of a cure,
There’s no right way to live -You got to live your own.

I am plagued by great aspirations of conflicting goals. I want both sides and I want neither. I spew forth melodramatic fragments of thought and complete nothing. Is my inability to maintain one continuous flow of thought due to this age of procrastination and fickleness of desire, or my own failings as (may I call myself a 'writer'? - well no one else is looking, so why not?) a Writer? Faith! I cannot even complete a paragraph without changing the subject at hand.

I feel that I have so much to say and not the time, or not the ability to put the words together properly. I try so desperately to express what I really want to, but the correct phrases disappear as soon as they cross my confused mind's eye. I fear that I have addled my mind with the drugs and alcohol consumed in such haphazard fashion, romantically emulating my adolescent vision of Poe, courting tragedy as desire, and foolishly expecting glory all this time, still expecting it. Fool that I am, uneducated save by the books that I read so voraciously, not that I would not seek out such education- It is just that I am bothered by such whimsical tomfoolery such as Working, supporting my son/s, (Oh don't lie to them, Kirk old boy,) Oh, very well, I have been living and making love to women and romancing life and doing everything that I seem to think that I have not whenever I sit around and think too much. But still where is my greater meaning? Am I just a beast? When I let myself be, I suppose I am - Feeding my sense of pleasure instead of my sense of well-being.

Even now, I haven't answered the phone all day and I got up to answer it in the chance that it was Angela, my fiancee'. But no- It was Doyel, and guess what? He wants me to drive over and pick him up so we can do god knows what (Hell, I think we even surprise HIM once in a while) And guess what else? Yes- I said that I would be there in fifteen minutes. Me with negative 29 dollars in the bank and not even a checkbook at hand to fling those burning pieces of paper at the cashier at the local liquor store or restaurant. Oh boy- gotta go I suppose. Do I want to or not? I guess that I'm a masochist after all cause I am on my way.
place appropriate self-derision here)
9:30 pm

Well, that was a waste of time, but not as much of a waste as it could have been, I suppose. We just came back to the house and watched some movies and went to sleep. Not much else to do as broke as we are, not to mention exhausted.

The honesties that pay no dividends

(this is a letter I wrote to my Dad back in the days of working at Berryhill)

I feel that I must talk with you, and since you refuse to talk, I suppose that this letter will have to do. I don't understand exactly why you act the way you do, but you are hurting everyone around you, including yourself. No one in the world has hurt me more than or as many times as you have. You have made me cry all through my life, even up to the present. From the time I was five years old and you told my mother in front of me and Ryan that you only had one son - Ryan Berryhill, up until this very day, when you lash out at all of us here at the office, you have hurt me emotionally. I always forgave you every single thing. I have always done as everyone here does. We try to ignore the things you do and say and let life go on, hoping that one day you will simply change.

Well, I guess that I realize that you aren't going to change by yourself. I have offered you help in the past, I offered to go with you to Alcoholics Anonymous, as both of us alcoholics, not just me going with you to support you, but both of us together, supporting each other. I would do whatever it takes to help you be happy. Every time you curse me, or Grandma, or Ryan you are only making things worse. I know that we retaliate, at least Ryan and I do.

For a time I believed you. I thought that Grandma and Grandpa had done terrible things to you as a child to make you that way, but then I realized that you treat me and Ryan the same way- Like we are all shit and your life is so bad for having to deal with us. But let me tell you something, Ryan and I have never done a damn thing to YOU. Never, besides rebelling against the way you treat us. I have never done anything to hurt you, no matter how many times I locked myself in a closet as a child, crying, wishing that you were dead, I have never done anything to you. I never even struck back at you all those times you hit me, and up until a year ago I would never have thought of doing so. I don't believe Grandma did anything to you anymore, except spoil you rotten. You treat her worse than any of us, worse than the horrible way that you treat your sons. You curse her and yell at her and basically spit in her face. She is the main reason you live the way you do, expensive car, expensive house, pool, You would not have jack shit if it weren't for her- I know that you would argue about that, but you know that its true. Beyond all of that- Betrayal of family -you also are lazy and don't bother to show up for work half the time. You bitch about working all your life and you need a break once in a while - Well, Mr. Workaholic you have missed exactly 3 weeks and 4 days in the past 3 months. And oddly enough, one of those weeks was a PAID Vacation. You have some audacity, to spit in all of our faces once again, by making everyone work that much harder in order to get things done.

And today, Grandpa and Grandma really need a break, they were wanting to go on vacation but you had to go off on a drunk again, what - overworked again ? I don't think so. You bring a lot of unneeded stress on all of us. I would say that you should be ashamed, but I don't think that you know what guilt or shame is. If you did, you probably couldn't be able to look anyone in the eyes around here. I love you, but you can only beat a dog so much before he bites back, and everyone around here has been kicked just about to death.

Just think about it, reflect on what you want out of life, Do you want us all to hate you? Sometimes I think that you do, it would be easier for you to continue hating us. Well, we all love you, dad. We just wish you could get your life straight.

Your son,

Monday, December 26, 2011


Whew... well that crown royal I got for xmas yesterday certainly didn't go to waste... Binge and Purge your head and your heart...

I'm good, now.

Getting the girls ready to go let them spend their holiday moolah.

Everyone have a nice post-yule day.

Drink yourself to sleep, now

It never gets any easier.

If it weren't for the girls, I could forget her and move on.

Every new day that she isn't here for them is a new abandonment for me.
It's another one of those nights. I haven't cried in a long time, but I'm crying now.
Is it for her? or is it for me?

or is it for Amy and Rain?

i guess a little bit of them, and a Lot of me

Damn the stupidity in us all.

She put him out, like the burning end of a midnight cigarette.
She broke his heart.
He spent his whole life trying to forget.
They watched him drink his pain away, a little at a time
but he never could get drunk enough, to get her off his mind..
until tonight
he put that bottle to his head and pulled the trigger
he finally drank away her memory
Life is short, but this time it was bigger,
than the strength he had to get he had to get up off his knees
They found him with his face down in the pillow,
with a note that said "I'll love her til I die"
and when we buried him beneath the willow,
the angels sang a whiskey lullabye..

Friday, December 23, 2011

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Predictable fucker

I was called Predictable tonight.

I don't think any of my exes would ever agree with that statement, but nowadays, I have to. I'm kinda proud to be consistent/predictable= even as boring as it is. I'll be at work in the morning (even tho its my day off.I'm weird like that). I'll rush home after work to clean house and run errands for the girls. I'll be half grumpy while still cracking jokes and laughing (at myself, most of the time). And yes, when it comes time to have free time for myself, I'll seek out a friend, and hopefully share a beer and some chilling out time.

And if that's all predictable, so be it. I'll take that as a compliment. Because I know what being unpredictable is like= and those people are fun sometimes, but you sure as shit cant trust em.

And now, I predict, I'll have another beer. Did you see that one coming?

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Imperfect Gift

A man stands.
Sometimes he can do no more.

Every once in a long while something brings him back to life.
Someone moves his heart, and his being to stir. Someone makes him breathe deep and appreciate that breath.

Contrary to belief, love is not perfect- it is a study of imperfection and therein lies its deepest magic. And those chaotic moments where someone special goads you out of your self-imposed exile breathes life into you when you least expect it.

And they make you want to live. They give you your own life back, with their zest for you, and what you give them in return, sometimes even as you make them pull it grudgingly from you-

words do not do those perfectly imperfect moments justice

What we share is poetry. It is very much cherished, just as it is unique.

It is the best gift I ever got, and the best i'll ever give. In the only flawed way I can give it.

Merry Christmas Babochka. This is for you, and for all the people who breathe life into you, and all the ones who breathe life into me, despite myself, most times.

Friday, December 9, 2011

her, always her

I can feel her

the memory of me touching her spreads through me

a warm wave that electrifies every one of my senses

I can see her

In my mind's eye. Her smile, her eyes, HER

In my mind she is here. I wrap her up, I envelop her in my love. I tell her everything I need to tell her, how I love her, how I would do anything for her...

in reality, she's a little bit further than that

She's a foot away, My hand reaches out, then falls.

It's never that easy, is it?

Age, not necessarily wisdom

You know you are getting old when you can't get angry any more...